Potential
by Otium
Summary: The battle at the Ministry goes badly, and Ron is once again injured by the Brains. This time he doesn't just get a few scars.


**AN:** This idea has been floating around my head for a while, in a number of different iterations. Ron is, and always will be, one of my favourite characters in Harry Potter. A lot of the fanfiction community don't really seem to like him, but here, i'm going to try and do him justice. He has flaws, but that just makes him human, who hasn't been jealous of a friend as a teenager? Let he who is without sin cat the first stone, I think anyway.

I also think J.K, wonderful as she is, could have fleshed out Ron's character a little bit. He could have been so much more, and here, i'll try and do that a little justice.

 **Chapter 1. An ill thought out plan.**

Clinging on for dear life, an invisible flying horse between his legs, he let his thoughts wander to what lay ahead.

In three hours, they'd reach London, and the ministry. Ron felt it in his gut, a terrible churning, as if they where walking into a trap. Harry had had a vision, of Sirius being tortured. If it was true, if Sirius was there, then Voldemort would be there too, along with his viscous followers, the Death Eaters, a thought which made him shudder. A bunch of teenagers, against some of the deadliest witches and wizards in wizarding Britain.

Well, he thought, the wind whipping past his face, at least the ride gave him time to think. Contingency plans, escape routes, all sorts of ideas running full pelt through his head. He'd been in the ministry a grand total of twice, once, when his mother had been ill, and he was too young to be left alone, and once, for a bring your children to work day. Ron wasn't impressed, the grand black marble buildings seemed imposing, not a cheerful work environment, meant more for impression than practicality. He'd seen a number of house elves pop in and out of lifts and other rooms, those little fellows could seemingly go anywhere.

He could see the outline of London getting larger on the horizon. Ron suddenly had a worrying thought, where would they leave the thestrals? Touching down on a quiet side street, Harry lead them to the phone box that he and Arthur had used when Harry had gone to his hearing. Ron lost track of time as the corridors and doors seemed to merge into one, they had found the seemingly cavernous room that Sirius was supposedly being held. A feeling of utmost dread washed over him, and sickeningly, he realised he had been right, they'd been tricked, that small voice at the back of his mind incessantly telling him 'I told you so'. Footsteps sounded on the marble floor, approaching them with speed. His mind went blank.

Running through corridors, spells being flung back and forth, flashes of colour in the darkness, sickly green and brilliant red rushed past with horrifying closeness. He stopped to catch his breath, in a small room, illuminated by the glow of strange tanks lined up against the wall, but he couldn't make out the objects floating inside. Luna and Neville where panting too, as the death eaters burst into the room. He still didn't know what the curse he'd been hit with was. Cunfundus maybe? His brain went fuzzy, why where they there? What an odd room to be in? What was in those tanks? He had to find out, it was... essential? Ron knew it must be why he was there, no reason he could see otherwise. He summoned them towards him, and felt slimy tentacles constricting his body, wrapping around every bare inch of skin they could find. Terrible burning pain spread through him like fire. A burst of clarity hit him. Sirius! They still didn't know where Sirius was! A cold voice sliced through his brain, _'do you know any blasted house elves?'_ He thought for a second, the fuzziness returning, Dobby? He tried to speak but found his mouth unable to make coherent movements. He gurgled the words sloppily. With a 'pop' the excitable house elf burst into the room, the battle having died down, death eaters stunned to the floor. He felt the constricting feeling leaving him, finally, relief from the pain. The house elf looked around questioningly, big eyes staring widely at Ron's prone form.

"I need... I need" Ron struggled to get any words out at all "Dobby, I need you to find... Sirius!" he shouted, glee in his voice, like finally solving a rather difficult problem. "Get him... Get him to safety... Dumbledore's office..." he slurred the last few words, slipping off into unconsciousness, the pain from the burning sensation and his mind slowly slipping away, into the welcoming blackness. He heard another faint pop, and the world left him.

Ron felt his eyes being assaulted by bright lights. The startlingly white room he was in smelt faintly of disinfectant. He looked himself over, connected to a number of machines. Bandages wrapped around his arms and torso, he felt like one of the mummy's in Bill's pyramids. It was certainly a large room, white walls, a number of paintings, a small table sat beside the bed. All very clean, clinical almost. It was still dark outside, and the clock on the wall informed him it was nearing 6:00am.

As he took in his surroundings, a doctor entered his room. Casting a number of spells Ron had never heard before, the short, blond haired doctor told Ron the details of his condition, and, more importantly, where he was. According the the man, he was in a large hospital in the north of Sweden. The brains had affected him in such a way that he had been in a coma for the last three weeks, unreachable to the waking world. He could see letters piled up on a small bedside table to his left, along with, to his relief, his wand. Clutching it, he sat up in the double bed, sheets falling lazily away from him. The wires in his arm tugged slightly as he tried to get into a better position. It was at this point he noticed something very wrong. Looking down to his right, where his arm should have been, there as a small stump, just under his shoulder. He shuddered. The battle at the ministry had taken more than he'd thought. He couldn't focus on anything, it seemed totally surreal. Everything seemed to be too bright, or almost out of focus. The doctor tried to reassure him that they where having a special prosthetic made for his right arm, one that would allow him to continue to do magic with his right arm, paid for by the British ministry, for his part in stopping Voldemort that night.

Once the doctors had left, he heard a voice chuckle, ' _Well, now that they've left, it seems we have a lot to discuss'_ Ron looked around, startled "Who... and where are you?" Ron said, shakily, not seeing anything that could have spoken, unless he was going mad. ' _I'm... inside your head, for now it seems.'_ The darkness was just starting to fade into glorious dawn, as the voice spoke again ' _there are a few things i'm going to need to show you'_ It started as a mild ache in his head, like something trying to force its way out, but soon spiralled into wrack's of pain contorting his body. 'What in the hell have I let myself in for?!' Ron thought desperately, letting sleep claim him, in the vain hope of escaping this unspeakable pain.

If you enjoyed the first chapter, let me know, if not, please tell me why, criticism is the way we get better at what we do. It can be anything from my grammar is awful, to you think the story is awful and I should just stop. All welcome, flames are fun to read.

I'll try to reply to comments, and if you have any ideas, don't hesitate to PM me.


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